I don’t want a prestigious career.
I don’t want a lot of money.
I don’t want to sink to the bottom of the sticky bottle.
All I want-
Is somebody that I fancy.
Someone gorgeous and wonderful amazing,
Who’s weird and funny and knows about obscure things,
And here I am in a tree house throwing pebbles at rodents,
Waiting for her.
And beside me Joshua wriggles and slaps his thighs and tells me about his favourite Pokémon.
I’ve heard his story a thousand times before.
He doesn’t care.
I don’t care.
He just talks at me while I look for squirrels.
The women of my life are all called Rosie, Rose, Rosetta, or Mary-Rose.
Why do girls all have the same name?
And how can I expect the one I want to go to my school,
Or find my back garden,
With no hose or even a tap,
To run our hands through in this bright heat?
I’m too old for this.
I hate being weird.
I’d hate to be normal too.
The girls my age are far too young.
I want one who’s twenty or thirty,
And I don’t want to be ashamed.
Joshua’s mum is the most beautiful woman in the world.
Most of my friends’ mums are.
I wish I was older.
Being naked must be vibrant when you’re old,
With tingly lips.
“You’re not listening!” Joshua says.
“I’m sorry. I was thinking.”
“You’re in a world of your own Marcus.”
I laugh. Joshua Laughs. I climb out and up onto the roof. He looks at me through the open port-hole.
“I can’t go up there.” He says.
“I’m scared I’ll die.”
Joshua is even more of a stranger than me. But like most people he doesn’t realise how odd he is.
“You’re in a world of your own.” He says.
I wish I had my own world.
“Come down.” Says Joshua.
I want to be in bed with Miss Braeburn.
I grab a big green apple and climb back in.
“Apple?” I say.
“No thanks. They’re too sour.”
“Do you like girls?”
“I like mums.”
Joshua laughs. I laugh.
“You’re in a world of your own Marcus.” He says.
I spot a squirrel in a bush. I throw the apple at it.